


Bottes noires

by Vegan_Venom



Series: A Rainbow of Discarded Clothes [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Dysphoria, Boot Worship, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Roleplay, Some Fluff, This was meant to be PWP but I accidentally included feelings, Trans Grantaire, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9372344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vegan_Venom/pseuds/Vegan_Venom
Summary: Grantaire couldn't be happier. Well, perhaps he could do without the alcoholism and dysphoria, but he can hardly complain now that he gets to callEnjolras- yes, the fiery god, the gorgeous and righteous man whom he has loved for years - his boyfriend. He is as happy as he'll ever be.So then why do his deepest fantasies still recall a time when Enjolras treated him like the dirt on the sole of his boot?A sequel toUn débardeur vert, but can be read on its own.





	1. Le soleil matinal

**Author's Note:**

> Contains a brief-ish description of body dysphoria. If you message me on my [tumblr](https://veganvenom.tumblr.com/) I can tell you where it is so you can skip it, or I can send you a version with it omitted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire make love, and Grantaire figures out just what he needs to bring an extra spark to their bedroom activities.

Grantaire can't believe his luck sometimes. He wonders if perhaps the universe has taken all of Bossuet's luck and given it to him, and whether he should feel guilty. But no, L'Aigle has two loving partners, even if he is bald, clumsy and perpetually misses his bus. And that's what life's all about for most people isn't it? Finding people who love you and who you can love back, romantically or otherwise. Grantaire chuckles at the sappy direction his thoughts have taken. Whoever would have thought he could be this content, musing over love and the meaning of life as if he were Jean Prouvaire?

"What are you laughing at?" Enjolras mumbles into his collarbone, still mostly asleep.

"Nothing," Grantaire whispers back, gently stroking his lover's blond curls and wishing him back to sleep. Grantaire would like just a few more minutes before the day starts to savour this feeling, of his boyfriend draped over him, arms and legs clinging to him posessively as Grantaire acts (more than happily) as a pillow, lying flat on his back. Warmth seems to flow into him from every point of contact of their bodies, and Grantaire has never felt more loved. 

The early morning sun gradually begins to filter through the curtains, and Enjolras stirs again, his hot breath tickling the hairs on Grantaire's chest.

"Good morning, mon ange." Grantaire, no longer required to be still lest he disturb his bedmate's peaceful slumber, squeezes Enjolras in his arms and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"Morning," Enjolras replies, his voice thick with sleep, and pushes himself up the bed a little so he can kiss his boyfriend on the lips. 

It starts almost chaste, the perfect way to greet the morning, Grantaire thinks. A kiss from the lips of the man you love, hovering above you, his golden curls making an ethereal halo in the pale sunlight.

Enjolras brings their lips together again and again, the kisses becoming firmer each time. _Oh._ Grantaire cottons on to what Enjolras is angling for here, and opens his mouth a little for the next kiss. Enjolras makes a pleased sound as their toungues meet, hardly the tonsil-licking of teenagers, but a thorough and sensual joining of their mouths which has Grantaire seeings stars. 

Enjolras often wants sex just after he wakes up, Grantaire has learned in the few months they've been together. It's something Grantaire had never done before, most of his previous sexual partners leaving his bed and sneaking home in the middle of the night, if they even made it as far as the bed. What person would not love it, though, when the first thing the passionate revolutionary Enjolras wants to do in the day is _you_.

Grantaire moves his hands to Enjolras' head, tangling his fingers in his hair and bringing his face closer to deepen the kiss. Neither of them taste fantastic, as is true for anyone upon waking up, but Grantaire secretly loves this. That Enjolras is not ashamed around him, doesn't need to put on a show or hide his natural self. 

Enjolras props himself up on one elbow, pushing his underwear down and kicking it off his feet to get lost somewhere under the duvet. Fingers curl at the waistband of Grantaire's boxers, questioning, and Grantaire lifts his hips in response. Enjolras gets them off with slightly less elegance than he did his own, since he seems unwillingly to break their kiss, but eventually they are both naked and pressed against one another fully.

Enjolras' erection is pushing against Grantaire's hip, and Grantaire wastes no time in reaching down and wrapping his right hand around it. Enjolras moans then, deep and loud.

"Can I...?" he attempts to ask, his fingers ghosting over Grantaire's left hipbone. 

No.

_Damn it._

Grantaire has to squeeze his eyes closed a moment as a cocktail of embarassment, self-loathing and _wrongness_ materialises almost without warning and settles in his gut. Of course his dysphoria wouldn't care that he'd been having a perfect day so far. It was happy to swoop in and ruin things whenever it wanted to.

But no, not ruined. Enjolras is understanding as always, and when Grantaire tenses up he moves his right hand up to tangle in chest hair instead, and peppers Grantaire's stubbled jaw with kisses. Enjolras has touched him down there before, but his dysphoria can be unpredictable. Usually Grantaire prefers Enjolras to touch his cock, but that is lying across the room, unreachable from the bed, and doubtless could do with a wash after last night's activities. 

Grantaire breathes for a moment until the feeling abates a little, all the while slowly stroking Enjolras' erection. Perhaps he should be jealous at the other man for his flesh-and-blood dick, but with so much else to be envious of Enjolras over it hardly occurs to him. And Grantaire long ago turned all that envy into adoration, and more recently into love.

Rearranging their legs and pushing Enjolras up a bit, Grantaire moves into a position where he can rut against the top of his lover's thigh, and groans with the relief of the friction. Enjolras smiles and takes over the task, thrusting so that his leg rubs between Grantaire's. Seeing little use for pumping with his hand now that Enjolras is moving, Grantaire makes a fist around Enjolras' cock and lets him push into it with each surge forward. They both moan, and Grantaire pulls Enjolras' face to his again so that they can muffle the sounds in each other's mouths. It is early, after all, and they don't want to let Grantaire's neighbours (or Courfeyrac) hear. This feels too private, a synchronised dance of warm limbs in the quiet of the morning.

Soon their pace increases, Enjolras' body shaking with the effort of propping himself over Grantaire and the build-up to his orgasm. Grantaire grabs onto Enjolras' perfect arse with his free hand, stopping the other man from moving too far away and silently encouraging him to keep going. Their kissing has stopped now, such an act requiring more coordination than either man can spare as they focus on their mounting pleasure. Enjolras keeps his face just above Grantaire's, their noses brushing. Enjolras pants with the exertion of each thrust, sharing breath with Grantaire, whose mouth is a trembling "O" as he falls into ecstasy. They keep eye contact until the last moment when Grantaire's head jerks back against the pillow, his body convulsing and smearing Enjolras' leg with come. Enjolras lets out a groan at the sight, and continues to thrust desperately into Grantaire's hand, still a fist on his stomach, until he too comes, painting Grantaire's chest.

A few breaths later, Grantaire leans up for another kiss, both men grinning. Enjolras flops down on his back next to Grantaire, looking as if he has every intention to go back to sleep. Grantaire, suspicious at the amount of light now bathing his bedroom, glances over at the alarm clock, where green glowing letters proclaim it to be 06:57.

"Hey, don't go back to sleep. Only a few minutes before the alarm goes off. You need to get ready for work."

Enjolras groans and rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow.

Grantaire wonders how it has come about that _he_ has to be the responsible one whilst Enjolras wants to be lazy. He leans over his boyfriend and plasters himself to the resting man's back. Well, more like _glues_ , since the sticky mess on Grantaire's chest hasn't had time to dry. Grantaire peppers the head and shoulders below him with kisses, trying to keep Enjolras from the welcoming arms of sleep. Enjolras makes a deep, quiet hum of protest, but doesn't budge. 

Grantaire considers his options. He could lick Enjolras' ear, which Enjolras thinks is gross and can't stand, but that of course would lead to Enjolras being displeased with him. Grantaire could slap his arse, and by all the gods is that plump round arse made for slapping, but that just seems a bit mean. The third option is tickling, and Grantaire is aware of several sensitive places on Enjolras' body which would wake him up immediately. The downside of this, though, is the deafening shriek which Enjolras lets out every time he's tickled. Grantaire finds this endlessly amusing, but he doubts Courfeyrac would agree. In the end Grantaire is saved from his deliberating when the alarm goes off.

Enjolras groans again, but immediately rolls, dislodging the man on his back, and reaches out to silence the offending machine. Enjolras sits up and stretches, and Grantaire lets himself enjoy the view without guilt. 

"Morning," Enjolras greets him again, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before rolling off the bed. "I'm going to have a shower. Are you staying in bed?"

Grantaire is usually a late-riser, to add to his lazy nature, in stark contrast to Enjolras, who is never late and always busy. He often sleeps in whilst Enjolras gets ready for work, but Grantaire hadn't slept much last night. He's trying to taper off his drinking, and insomnia is a common withdrawal symptom. He _should_ be alleviating any symptoms with small, measured amounts of alchohol, as per the reduction schedule he has sketched out, but he doesn't want Enjolras to know. So he'll suffer just a bit longer and wait until his boyfriend has gone to work before breaking out a beer. 

"Nah, I'm actually not tired. D'you want me to make you coffee? Breakfast?"

"Yes please to both," Enjolras answers, a grateful smile on his face. "Whatever food you're having will be fine."

"So... spicy leftover curry then?" Grantaire jokes, and gets hit by a pillow in response. 

Enjolras leaves the bedroom, padding down the hallway wearing just Grantaire's dressing gown and carrying his work clothes. A minute later Grantaire hears the shower start, and he takes that as his cue to summon all his willpower and heave himself out of bed. He rummages around the duvet and slips on his discarded boxers, not caring if they'd be a bit dirty by now. He'll shower later. Under a pile in the corner he finds some pyjama bottoms, which he has little use for as actual pyjama bottoms now that he spends almost every night with Enjolras. Even if they don't have sex every night (though, Grantaire thinks with a smirk, they do _most_ nights), Enjolras is a formidable human heat source, and extra clothing is really not necessary. He opens a drawer and pulls on whatever t-shirt is on top, which turns out to be a ratty Beastie Boys tour shirt from 2007.

Walking barefoot to his kitchen and preparing the coffee, Grantaire continues thinking about their sex life. They've tried so much already, and yet, there's so much more to try. Enjolras loves being surprised, loves contorting himself into new positions or exploring his (relatively vanilla so far) kinks. Grantaire slices some bread off a loaf that he'd bought yesterday, and grabs two jars of jam from the cupboard. Marmalade for Enjolras, raspberry for himself. Grantaire dips a table knife into the first jar with his jittery hand and contemplates the spread as he scrapes it over a slice of bread. Perhaps they could use it? Grantaire imagines smearing jam all over Enjolras' nipples, stomach and thighs, then licking it off. It's not a hugely appealing idea, but it's worth trying. Grantaire reminds himself to google whether it's sanitary to put jam on genitals whilst Enjolras is out. Probably it's not. Shame. Despite their fantastic adventures in bed, Grantaire still feels like he should always be trying for more. Something which Enjolras will find novel or kinky.

Enjolras wanders into the kitchen just as Grantaire finishes spreading the jam, his hair dripping, fully dressed in a crisp dark grey suit and red tie. Grantaire often mocks him for wearing it, asking him how it feels to betray his principles and wear the uniform of the bourgeoisie. Enjolras always defends its necessity for his job as a human rights lawyer, even though Grantaire is sure Enjolras secretly hates the suit and is only arguing with Grantaire because that's what they do, what they've always done. 

_Oh._ That's it. That spark which was there on the first night they got together but fizzled out into more agreeable sex as their relationship bloomed. They'd never fought during sex since then.

As Enjolras pours himself a coffee and takes a slice of bread with him to the dining table where he can read the morning's news on his tablet, Grantaire looks at him and tries to remember how he saw the other man before all this domesticity. The two had fought constantly in ABC meetings, Grantaire either picking apart Enjolras' arguments point by point or decrying whatever campaign they were working on as futile. Enjolras, never one to give in, always pushed back with counterarguments until he finally had enough and questioned Grantaire's sobriety, his purpose in the group, and sometimes even his purpose in life. The fire in his eyes when he did that, the contempt in his voice, had fuelled Grantaire's fantasies for years. 

Yes, that's what Grantaire wants, he realises. Grantaire would never give up this cosy life he has where he can call Enjolras his boyfriend and make him bread and marmalade. But it would be so _fucking hot_ to play, wouldn't it? To play at how they were before, but adding sex into the mix. 

Just as Grantaire is wondering just how to phrase his request and feel out Enjolras' reactions to it, the other man rises, his coffee and breakfast finished, and slips on his pointy dress shoes and long red coat. 

"Thank you for the breakfast, R. I'm glad it wasn't curry after all." Enjolras laughs as he stalks over, then gives Grantaire a firm smack of a kiss. "And thank you for this morning, too," he adds in a lower tone, winking and turning around.

"Any time," Grantaire replies cockily.

"See you later, R!" Enjolras calls, and then he's out the door, off to work for the next ten hours, leaving Grantaire alone and impatient with his fantasies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know how I wrote something so sappy - that's never happened before.
> 
> Chaper two should be finished either tomorrow or at the weekend, and that will return the tone to something a bit more kinky.


	2. La négociation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire drinks, Courfeyrac flirts, and Enjolras negotiates his first scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for making it 3 chapters now, and then not giving you that chapter you really want.  
> I guess I just want Grantaire to suffer for a bit. Y'know... until Enjolras _makes_ him suffer...
> 
> Warning for alcoholism and some talk/thoughts of BDSM in this chapter.

The silence in the apartment since Enjolras left for work feels cold and oppressive, and by the time Grantaire finishes his toast he is jittery as hell, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. He grabs his mug and takes a sip to calm his nerves, but the coffee is lukewarm at best. 

How long had he been standing there daydreaming about the way Enjolras used to look down at him in meetings, as though Grantaire was unworthy of being in his presence?

Grantaire sets his mug back on the counter, opens the cupboard above it and pulls a bottle out from the back. He shouldn’t be drinking spirits while tapering off, all the blogs he’d read on the subject had warned. It’s too easy to drink too much, to get drunk and ruin the process. Beer is better, just a few stretched throughout the day, and he’s got some in the fridge. But there’s not much whiskey left in this bottle, and Grantaire can’t bear the thought of pouring good alcohol down the sink.

He pours a generous glug into his cold coffee, a little splashing on the countertop. As he goes to screw the cap back on, he pauses, overtaken by the familiar urge to drink right from the bottle, as he’s done countless times before. It wouldn’t hurt, would it? There’s not even enough there to get him drunk. Just enough to ease the inexplicable nerves which have crept up on him ever since his boyfriend walked out the door.

But no, if he starts down that path again he’ll lose the weak willpower which is stopping him from drinking the four cans of beer and Courfeyrac’s bottle of ready-mixed Mojito that are sitting in the fridge. (And yes, Grantaire is always very aware of exactly how much alcohol there is in the flat). 

He does up the cap and shoves the bottle back in the cupboard before he can change his mind, then takes his coffee into the living room to put some distance between himself and temptation. Grantaire perches on their beat-up sofa, brings the mug to his lips with a shaking hand, and takes a mouthful. He grimaces a little at the double-bitterness of both coffee and cheap whiskey, but it tastes like heaven. Taking another gulp, he finally relaxes and slouches down on the sofa.

In what seems like no time at all, Grantaire's mug is empty, and despite the physical withdrawal symptoms having faded he still feels the urge to make himself another Irish coffee, perhaps without the coffee this time. He needs a distraction.

But oh, today he has the perfect distraction. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he works out that he already lost half an hour of his morning standing in the kitchen to thoughts of burning eyes and a sharp tongue. He lets the half-formed images float through his mind again. 

Enjolras calling him worthless. Enjolras striking him across the face in retaliation for insulting his cause. Enjolras pushing him to his knees, wondering aloud whether Grantaire’s mouth could be put to better use.

Just as Grantaire is considering moving to his bedroom for activities best not carried out in a shared living room, he hears Courfeyrac’s door open, and then some pottering about in the kitchen. A minute later the man strolls in, clad only in tight pink boxers-briefs and white ankle socks, to join Grantaire on the couch. 

“Morning, R. Thanks for making coffee,” he says brightly, brandishing his mug.

Grantaire catches himself giving Courfeyrac’s lean body the once over, and forces his gaze up to his flatmate’s face, where he finds a familiar smirk. 

They’ve been doing this almost since they moved in together a couple of years ago. That first night, Courfeyrac had knocked on Grantaire’s bedroom door and straight-up asked if he wanted to have sex. When Grantaire turned him down, claiming that he never slept with his friends, Courfeyrac pretended to be hurt, which is how Granaire knew he was actually not hurt at all.

Courfeyrac had made it into a game after that. He’d frequently walk around their flat in his underwear, or just a towel which would conveniently fall off his hips when Grantaire got close like in all those clichéd films. The man would “forget” to close his bedroom door when he was masturbating, or when he brought someone home. And Grantaire would play along, pretending not to notice, even as he found himself being tempted. The man had a typical twink’s body, all lean muscles, tight arse, and not a hair on the light brown skin of his chest. 

It would have been so easy to fall into bed with Courfeyrac, but Grantaire had always resisted it. What would Enjolras, the cold, untouchable Enjolras from before they got together, have thought if he heard Grantaire was sleeping with members of the ABC? Grantaire hadn’t thought Enjolras’ opinion of him could have got any lower, but he didn’t want to take the risk. Not in that way, at least. 

Snapping back to the present, Grantaire fights back a blush as he realises he’s been staring at Courfeyrac again.

Courfeyrac fucking _giggles_. “See something you like, R? Did Enjy leave you unsatisfied?” He pouts. “I’d offer to help with that, but if your boyfriend ever found out I’d be a dead man.”

Grantaire grunts and swats him on the arm. “Shut up, dude. Your head is way too far up your own arse if you think that you could ever make me cheat on him.” Grantaire may not have any natural inclination towards monogamy, but Enjolras does, and Grantaire would never break the promise they made to each other.

Courfeyrac frowns. “Aww, you’re no fun, R! You know I’m only messing with you. As if I’d break up you lovebirds. Jehan would kill me!” His coffee finished, Courfeyrac jumps up again. “Anyway I’m off to help Marius pick out matching suits for his groomsmen, because lord knows that boy cannot be trusted to make fashion choices on his own.”

Grantaire laughs. “Sounds like just your cup of tea. But wait, will you be done in time for our dance class at midday? Shopping tends to turn into an all-day affair when you’re involved.”

“That’s only because I’m an _expert_ at it,” Courfeyrac replies prissily. “But no, our dance class was cancelled. Didn’t you get Fantine’s email last night?”

“Oh. No, I haven’t checked my computer yet. I was kind of busy last night. And er, this morning.”

“Ooh la la!” Courfeyrac mimes fanning himself. “This morning too? Next time don’t be so quiet and give me some entertainment, okay? I’ll never forget when I came home that first night to hear Enjolras screaming your name. Fuelled my fantasies for days.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tease me as long as you like. As long as you remember not to bring it up in front of him. He’d be so embarrassed.”

“You two are so cute!” Courfeyrac gushes, swirling dramatically as he leaves the living room. “Later, R!”

“See you later! Have fun!” Grantaire yells back at him.

Lounging back on the sofa again, he remembers what he was about to do before his flatmate interrupted him. But no, Grantaire’s not quite in the mood for a wank any more. The thoughts are still there, though, swimming around his head, and Grantaire wishes Enjolras wasn’t at work today. Not wanting to be clingy but unable to resist any longer, he pulls out his phone and sends a text.

  
**To: Mon Ange** Hello gorgeous, how’s work going? xx

Grantaire wonders what would happen if Enjolras were here though, and Grantaire brought up the idea of roleplaying that kind of thing. They'd never done anything so involved in bed before that it required them to act like other people, even if those people were them from the past. Enjolras was up for trying most things, but Grantaire suspects he might draw the line at using his boyfriends's old insecurities to degrade and punish him. Too bad. It would have been so hot. Grantaire will just have to leave it as a fantasy.

Grantaire's phone pings and the message appears on the locked screen.

  
**From: Mon Ange** It's not even 9am yet - I only just got into the office. Everything ok? xx

Grantaire glances at the time above the message. 8:41. Jesus, how is time moving so slowly? Grantaire desperately needs something to do, but he's loathe to leave the apartment now that his dance class is cancelled. He should really spend the day working on his art commissions, doing yoga to increase his flexibility, and finishing the washing up. But would he really be Grantaire if he had such a productive day?

Usually he'd waste time on Netflix, but Grantaire somehow isn't in the mood for that either. It seems there's only one thing he's in the mood for today. One thing his thoughts keep circling around to.

Fuck it. No harm in trying his luck. 

Grantaire unlocks his phone, types a reply, and sends it before he can chicken out.

  
**To: Mon Ange** I want to ask you if you're up for trying something new in the bedroom. You can say no, of course. And I'm not sure you'd like it. In fact I'm nervous about asking you xx

Grantaire breathes, trying to quell the anxiety which has come back to the fore. If it's not even 9am, he can't have another drink yet. It's Tuesday, which means he's allowed 8 units of alcohol today. One fewer than yesterday, one more than he'll have tomorrow. Grantaire memorised his plan so that Enjolras wouldn't find it lying around somewhere and mother him over it. If Grantaire is going to go sober, he needs to do it on his own, with neither his boyfriend's pity nor his support.

Anyway, Grantaire calculates that he's only allowed three of the cans of Kronenbourg 1664 in the fridge after his morning whiskey, and he knows from just a few days ago that using most of his allowance up in the morning would just make for a hellish evening.

Needing to do something with his hands, Grantaire decides that maybe he'll do the washing up after all. He's almost finished when the phone in his pocket vibrates again. Grantaire drops the plate he was scrubbing back into the water and quickly dries the suds off his hands with a teatowel so he doesn't get his phone wet.

  
**From: Mon Ange** You can ask me anything and I won't judge you. Please don't be nervous of saying whatever it is. I'll listen, and if I don't like the idea I'll just say no, okay? xx P.S. I've got a meeting right now so I'll reply after.

Enjolras has quickly learnt what to say when his boyfriend is anxious, and Grantaire gives him top marks again this time. Feeling bold again, Grantaire decides to be blunt. 

  
**To: Mon Ange** I'd like to roleplay how we used to be before we were going out, but with sex added in. So, you calling me worthless, slapping me, making me beg to be allowed to touch you, etc. xx

Grantaire hits send with a smirk, imagining Enjolras' red face when he reads that after his meeting. Whether he'd be red-faced from embarassment, disgust or anger is up in the air, but Grantaire is nevertheless sure he won't be ignored. He's just beginning the process of drying up when his phone vibrates again, but then it doesn't stop. Who's calling him? Grantaire almost knocks over a pile of plates in his haste to fish the phone out of his pocket, but when he does he stares confused at the screen for so long that it rings off. Finally Grantaire wakes up and calls back, moving to his bedroom for privacy, as he presumes Courfeyrac is still getting ready to go out.

"Hi," Enjolras says on the other end of the phone.

"Hey," Grantaire replies. "Why are you calling me? Aren't you supposed to be in a meeting?"

"Yeah I was, but I promise it can wait. I need to know if what you just texted me was serious."

Grantaire is nervous all over again, and he can't read possible reactions from Enjolras' tone. What if he's disgusted by the idea? This could be Grantaire's chance to play it off as a joke.

"R? Are you still there?" Enjolras asks as the silence stretches out.

"Sorry, yeah I'm..." he starts. Come on, Grantaire, make a decision. Since he can't choose, he'll default to honesty and deal with whatever comes from that. "I was serious. About the text. I've been thinking about it all morning. But if you're not on board we can just forget I ever mentioned it. I don't expect you to reenact any disgusting fantasy my shitty brain comes up with. And I've interrupted your meeting. I'm sorry Enjolras, you should get back to-"

"Grantaire!" Enolras interrupts with the commanding tone he uses all the time in meetings, and Grantaire immediately quiets. "Stop overthinking this. You haven't even given me a chance to say what I think about this yet. I don't think it's disgusting, and I'm not vehemently opposed on principle to what is essentially consensual roleplay, but I have some things I'd like to talk through with you before I agree to anything. Is that okay?"

Grantaire lets out the breath he was holding. "Sure, yeah, it's... what parts do you want to talk through?"

"My first worry is that this is going to hit pretty close to home for both of us. It'll be... playing around with how awfully I used to treat you, and using your old insecurities, and I don't know if it would be healthy for us. Is this fantasy just something you've been thinking about this morning?"

"No, I've had it... I used to have those fantasies all the time, back before we were together. Sometimes I used to pretend that the animosity between us was really sexual tension just waiting to be released, that one day we'd be arguing and you'd snap and tackle me to the floor, or better yet I'd be on my knees in front of you, begging to suck your cock while you told me I didn't deserve it. Or you'd... sorry, I'm rambling on. But, yeah, I've had these fantasies for a long time. And they probably would have done no favours to my self-confidence at the time. But now that we're... now that we have this, I think I'm ready. You don't have to do this for me, mon ange, but please know that it's not going to hurt me."

"Okay, thank you," Enjolras says, and is then silent for a few seconds before continuing. "If you're sure it's not going to hurt you, then I'm willing to do it. It sounds kind of hot actually, now I've got past worrying whether it's just your insecurities talking. But if we're going to do this, I'd like a better idea of what you expect from it, and what your limits are. And there are some things I'm probably not going to be into as well."

Grantaire grins. "You want to negotiate a scene with me? My, how quickly Enjolras has grown into a sexual being!"

"Shut up, R," Enjolras replies. 

But then they do negotiate a scene.

Ten minutes later, when they both have as clear idea of what the scene will include as they can without sketching out any specifics, Enjolras says "So I'll come round tonight then, after going home to get changed?"

Grantaire's eyes widen. "You want to do this tonight!?"

"Yeah, is that okay?"

That is so much more than okay, but Grantaire tries to play it cool. "Sure, that'd be great. So you'll be round at 8ish?"

"Yeah about then. Please be ready for me. I've gotta get back to this meeting now. See you tonight! Oh and R, wear that ugly green scarf you always used to have on in meetings, if you still have it. Bye!"

Enjolras hangs up before he can reply, and Grantaire stares at his phone for a moment. The time reads 09:41. This is going to be a long day.


	3. La saleté

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras attempts to recreate some of the contempt his boyfriend believes he used to have for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pure filth, but I make no apologies.
> 
> Warnings for some minor consensual violence, D/S, and a whole lot of verbal humilation.

By the time the sun sets again, Grantaire has done all the washing up, folded his laundry, taken the rubbish out and rearranged his bookshelf. He couldn't stay still long enough to focus on work or yoga, too jittery and impatient, and worrying about everything that could go wrong when Enjolras comes over. Despite his anxiety, though, Grantaire has managed to stick to the number of beers he's allowed himself today. In fact, he's just finishing the last one off now.

Grantaire shakes the can above his mouth, chasing the last dregs, before tossing it in the recycling bin. He goes back to the living room to sit on the sofa. Licks his lips. Then jumps back up again. 

Trying to think of more things to busy himself with before Enjolras arrives, Grantaire moves to the bathroom and begins brushing his teeth with the idea of ridding himself of the taste of alcohol. Whilst it would be more authentic for their roleplay to leave it, he doesn't want Enjolras to stop because he thinks consent is an issue. As he scrubs the bristles over his molars he wishes once again that his boyfriend had just come straight from work. Then he'd be here by now. Sure, he wouldn't have been able to change, but Grantaire would have been perfectly happy to play their scene with Enjolras in his work attire, even though it wouldn't have been something Enjolras would wear to the Musain. He loves that crisp grey suit, much to its owner's annoyance - Enjolras doesn't like how powerful it makes him look, an outer wrapper for all his privilege. Grantaire would _definitely_ not object to a certain attractive, well-off, white cis male businessman putting him in his place. A kink his boyfriend would never share.

Grantaire is interrupted from his musings by the doorbell, and rushes to spit the toothpaste out of his mouth. Is that Enjolras already? Perhaps he's reconsidered the suit. Or maybe Grantaire has just lost track of time again. He gives himself a once over in the mirror. The scruffy band t-shirt has stayed, joined by a baggy green hoodie and faded jeans with gaping holes in the knees. Grantaire’s hair is a mess, but that’s authentic enough. As he jogs to the door Grantaire remembers Enjolras’ unusual request and pulls his old scarf from the hook by the door, wrapping it around his neck. Surely he looks odd like this indoors.

A second, impatient trilling of the bell brings him to the door, and he pulls it open to reveal Enjolras. Grantaire can no longer bring himself to resent the time he spent waiting. Enjorlas is impeccably dressed as ever, a bright red coat over a dark red plaid shirt, two buttons left tantalisingly undone. His feet are wide apart, a stance of confidence or confrontation, legs wrapped in impossibly tight black jeans. And the pièce de résistance is his black Doc Martens, the shiny pleather of the heavy boots catching Grantaire’s eye. He drags his gaze back up to find the effect completed by a scowl on Enjolras’ face. Enjolras is perfect, and Grantaire’s mouth is dry.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras barks, pushing through into the apartment without waiting to be invited. “Why were you not at the meeting this week?”

Enjolras’ voice is full of accusation, and Grantaire feels off balance. He didn’t go to the meeting because the Musain is a bar, and he was not about to derail his recovery by being around so much alcohol. Grantaire hadn’t told Enjolras that, though, he’d pleaded tiredness and Enjolras had seemed to forgive him easily. Had his white lie been found out?

“It’s unacceptable,” Enjolras continues. “This is the fourth time this year you’ve missed a meeting, and I know you can’t have anything better to do.”

Enjolras’ eyes are hard, and he’s keeping his distance. Have they started the scene already? Is it part of the act?

When Grantaire fails to respond again, Enjolras asks, “What’s your safeword?” confirming Grantaire’s suspicions.

“Napoleon,” he gets out. 

Enjolras nods minutely, and then takes a step closer, into Grantaire’s space. The threat is so clear in his body language that Grantaire automatically steps back.

“Well?” Enjolras demands. “What were you doing that was more important than Les Amis? You consistently fail to complete even the simplest tasks assigned to you, you fail to contribute usefully to our meetings, and now you even fail to show up!”

Grantaire gulps, and tries to get into character. “If I’m so useless to you at meetings, why do you want me there?” The words sound tentative though, where the Grantaire of a year ago would have delivered them with bravado. He feels unmoored, and begins to worry that he will not be able to complete the scene. It would be such a shame, as Enjolras is such a perfect embodiment of everything he wanted right now, but Grantaire is fucking it up as always.

As if sensing his anxiety, Enjolras steps forward again without warning and tangles a hand in the long hair at the back of Grantaire’s head. He tugs downward so that Grantaire’s chin is forced up.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Enjolras warns, his voice low and dangerous, and just like that Grantaire’s worries are forgotten. Enjolras’ grip is just the right shade of painful, but it’s the control more than anything that’s doing it for him. A familiar heat pools low in Grantaire’s stomach, and he tries not to squirm.

“I came all this way to check on you, and you repay me with defiance? You always say you want to be of use to me, but I don’t think you’re good for anything at all.”

“Please, Enjolras,” he begs, breathless. “You know I would do anything you asked of me.”

“Would you?” Enjolras’ voice is full of revulsion, and he gives Grantaire a once-over which makes him feel raw and ugly. “Perhaps you would. Your pitiful little crush is laughable. As if I could ever find a man like _you_ attractive.”

Grantaire gapes at him, the cruel words turning him on despite having evidence they’re false. His face is red from embarrassment and arousal, and he can’t think of anything to say. He’s not going to manage any arguing, and it seems that this scene is going to just be a lot of verbal humiliation, but Grantaire is _so_ okay with that. He hopes Enjolras is too.

“You’re pathetic. I bet you’d beg to be allowed to touch me, wouldn’t you?” 

Enjolras smiles, amused, and Grantaire manages to nod.

“Go on then,” Enjolras challenges.

Grantaire is confused for a moment, but then Enjolras pulls down harder on his hair, underscoring his meaning. Grantaire wastes no time in falling to his knees, and he’s probably going to regret that later when they’re bruised. Enjolras laughs at him, and Grantaire’s face flushes further.

“Such an eager little slut for any scrap of attention I’ll give you.” Enjolras towers above him, his profile even more imperial from below. “Go on. Beg for permission to touch me. Beg like the dog you are.”

Grantaire groans and presses his thighs together, giving him just a little friction in that place where he needs it, a burning itch which forces him to acquiesce. “Please, Enjolras,” he whispers awkwardly, unable to make eye contact whilst he debases himself. “Let me touch you.”

Enjolras’ snort is haughty. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Grantaire is impatient, the hard outline of Enjolras’ cock very visible from his position on the floor. His mouth is watering for it, and he tears down any vestiges of his pride in his desperation for a taste. “Please let me. I’ll do anything you want. You can fuck my face, come down my throat, bend me over and fuck me.” Enjolras’ breathing gets heavier at that, but he gives no reply. “I’ll suck your balls, rim you. You can sit on my face-“

“Enough!” Enjolras interrupts, his face now matching his shirt. “Your begging is vulgar and pathetic. You embarrass yourself, but I’m a generous man. I suppose I can let you touch me.”

“Thank you!” Grantaire answers, relieved, and shuffles forward on his knees, bringing his fingers to the button of Enjolras’ jeans. A sharp smacking sound cuts through the room, and Grantaire falls to the floor. His cheek is burning from where Enjolras slapped him, and Grantaire fights the urge to rut against the ground. His vision is blurring at the edges, and he realises deliriously that he could probably come from this, from Enjolras insulting him and striking him.

“You filth! You think I would let you touch me _there_?” Enjolras mocks. “You’re only worthy of kissing my hand. No, not even that. My boots.”

Grantaire’s eyes are immediately drawn to the objects, so close to him as he lies struck down on the carpet. Enjolras moves his right foot forward, to an inch from Grantaire’s face, and as if in a dream Grantaire bends to kiss the scuffed toe of the boot. Enjolras gasps quietly. Perhaps it had been a taunt, and he hadn’t thought Grantaire would really lower himself to this. Grantaire is happy enough to prove him wrong.

Grantaire presses another kiss there, reverent, before dotting kisses up the left side of the boot, alongside the red laces, across the ankle and up the calf to the top. Then he switches sides and kisses down again, covering every inch of the shoe in invisible lip-prints, returning to the slightly worn toe. 

Grantaire chances a look up, and he is gratified to see that Enjolras’ pupils are blown, his chest heaving as he watches a man literally worship at his feet. Feeling wild, Grantaire darts his tongue out to taste the pleather, and Enjolras tenses, no doubt disgusted by the germs Grantaire is exposing himself to. When Enjolras doesn’t retract his foot, however, Grantaire continues, and licks wet stripes across the material. It tastes dusty, and a little like petroleum, which means that Enjolras probably cleaned and polished them before coming round. Grantaire polishes them further, not pausing until the whole boot is shining with his saliva.

Enjolras steps back, and Grantaire is a little surprised by the strength of his disappointment, at how much he had been enjoying it. When Enjolras sticks his left foot forward instead, Grantaire wastes no time in lavishing the same attention on it, losing himself in the act of proving his absolute devotion to the man above him. When Enjolras finally pulls his feet back for good, Grantaire actually lets out a whine.

“Not bad,” Enolras says, his voice low and scratchy, belying his affected disinterest. “I suppose after that show of what use your mouth can be put to, you deserve a reward.”

Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut, needing a moment to compose himself, but they snap open again when he hears the sound of a fly being unzipped. Enjolras brings his cock out, impossibly hard and flushed red. Grantaire licks his lips but hesitates, remembering the last time he assumed this was what Enjolras wanted, but Enjolras growls with impatience and grabs the back of his head again, pulling Grantaire forward until his face is a mere inch from Enjolras’ erection. Grantaire could probably lick it, if he extended his tongue enough, but he doubts that’s what Enjolras wants. He looks up then, and sees Enjolras biting his pink lower lip, and waiting. Whether this is more teasing, a request for consent, or both, Grantaire isn’t sure, but he just wants Enjolras’ cock in his mouth _now_.

“Please,” he gasps, and that seems to be enough for Enjolras, who pulls him the rest of the way forward by the grip on his hair. Grantaire struggles to fit his mouth around it as Enjolras’ cock is thrust all the way in, and his eyes begin watering when it hits the back of his throat. Grantaire tries to seal his lips to give some suction, but the pace Enjolras sets is too fast, forcing Grantaire’s head up and down. It’s brutal and messy, tears joining the saliva dripping down onto his chin. At some point Grantaire began palming at the front of his jeans, and he knows this is not allowed but he can’t bring himself to stop. When Enjolras holds Grantaire’s head still at the deepest part of one thrust, keeping his cock buried in Grantaire’s throat and making him choke, Grantaire rubs himself faster. He’s going dizzy, vision blurring around the edges from lack of oxygen, and just as he’s convinced himself he’s about to pass out, Enjolras lets go. Grantaire pulls off and takes one deep gasping breath, then curls into himself and moans loudly as his orgasm washes over him in waves. 

Grantaire is tingling all over, panting heavily, his limbs slack with the kind of contented exhaustion which only comes after being well-fucked. It takes him several moments to come back to the moment, and realise that he is curled up at Enjolras’ feet, the man above him still unsatisfied. Grantaire moves to get up, but Enjolras raises one boot and pushes him back down with it to lie on his back, the hard sole digging into his chest and staying there. He only notices that Enjolras is vigorously stroking himself a few seconds before he comes with a gasp, his seed splattering over Grantaire’s upturned face, as well as his hair and shirt.

Grantaire lays there submissively, letting Enjolras take in the sight as he comes down from his orgasm, and licks the salty fluid from around his lips. He can feel some dripping down his chin and neck, and feels pity for his carpet, but he can’t open his eyes to survey the damage when there is come on his eyelids. After a few moments Enjolras removes the foot from Grantaire’s chest, and then his green scarf is being pulled from around his neck and used to mop up his face. Grantaire begins to protest that so much ejaculate will be very difficult to get out of the fabric, but is shut up by Enjolras stuffing the scarf into his mouth. Grantaire grunts indignantly as Enjolras wraps it around his head twice and ties if off at the back. He can taste the come on it.

“What’s your non-verbal safeword?” Enjolras asks. 

Grantaire takes hold of Enjolras hand and squeezes it three times in succession.

“Good,” Enjolras praises him, but then reverses the effect by saying, “I discovered I much prefer it when your mouth is occupied. That way you can’t spout bullshit at me.”

Grantaire gets to his knees and crosses his arms, since he can’t verbally argue.

Enjolras laughs. “Oh, are we done then? I had thought of one further use for you, but if you can’t even manage that, I’ve got better things to be getting on with.”

Grantaire puts his arms back by his sides and shakes his head quickly, trying to look sorry.

“Alright then, I suppose I can take a little more pity on you. If you manage not to move, I think I might make use of your cock.”

Grantaire groans a little at this, despite not being surprised. Enjolras loves bottoming just after climaxing, and Grantaire loves fucking him like that, a combination of pliant from orgasm and desperate from overstimulation. This time, however, it seems unlikely that Grantaire will actually get to do any fucking.

Enjolras is removing his clothes, first his boots, which Grantaire will probably have ridiculously dirty dreams about from now on, then his overcoat and shirt. The slow reveal of skin is torture for Grantaire, and he wants desperately to touch himself again. Enjolras pulls his jeans and boxers down his legs, a bit of a struggle given how tight they are, and finally he is in all his naked glory. Grantaire will never get tired of seeing it.

Enjolras goes to his overcoat and pulls a small bottle out of the pocket, and Grantaire’s hand twitches, hoping to be allowed to help prepare him. But Enjolras immediately squirts some of the lube onto his hand, and reaches around to finger himself. The expression on Enjolras’ face is exquisite, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure and lips parted, and Grantaire wishes he had his paint supplies to hand. Grantaire unconsciously moves his hand to his crotch, and Enjolras must sense it somehow, because he kicks the hand away and replaces it with his bare foot. Enjolras presses down on his cock, and what it does to the base of the strap-on is painful. Grantaire arches his back and moans around the scarf.

After a minute like that, Enjolras removes his fingers, and lowers himself to straddle Grantaire’s hips. Grantaire abruptly realises that whilst Enjolras is naked above him, he himself is still fully dressed. His fingers move to the hem of his t-shirt, but once again Enjolras stops him.

“I have no desire to see any more of your body than necessary,” Enjolras tells him, and pins both of Grantaire’s hands above his head with his left hand. He makes sure to hold onto Grantaire’s fingers rather than his wrists, so that he can still safeword if he needs to. “You said that I can make use of you however I want to. Well, right now I only want your cock. It’s unfortunate that it comes with you attached, but I’ll have to make do.”

Grantaire’s face heats at the cruel words, and arches his back again when Enjolras unfastens Grantaire’s jeans one-handed and slathers his cock with lube. With almost no warning Enjolras lowers himself, sinking down onto Grantaire’s length whilst biting his lip. Grantaire cannot feel it, of course, but the sight of Enjolras’ stretched hole is obscene. When he’s all the way on, Enjolras gives himself a few seconds to breathe, then raises himself back up and lowers himself down again. Grantaire can definitely feel _that_ , and he groans at the fantastic friction.

“You’re not so bad like this,” Enjolras tells him, between gasps. “Restrained and gagged, laid out for me to use. I’m so glad I found the one thing you’re good for.”

Enjolras is moving faster now, and his cock is showing renewed interest, bobbing up and down with his movements. Grantaire is torn between shutting his eyes in ecstasy and forcing them open to watch the beautiful sight of Enjolras bouncing on his dick. For a minute, the only sounds in the room are Grantaire’s muffled grunts, Enjolras’ unselfconscious moans, and the vulgar wet sound of their coupling.

“I wish I’d figured this out sooner,” Enjolras says, his voice breathy and strained. “Every time you made some smart-ass comment, I could’ve been shutting you up with my cock in your mouth.”

They both groan loudly then, and Enjolras moves his right hand to his cock, pumping it enthusiastically. The shift in weight puts more pressure on Grantaire’s hands, and Grantaire moans again at the pain, at being held down so thoroughly. 

“I think that’s what we should be doing at meetings. You should be under the… _fuck_ … under the table, sucking me off so you can’t… _unghh_ … can’t annoy us all with your ramblings. I think everyone would agree it’s about all you’re good for.”

Enjolras picks up his pace yet again, and Grantaire squirms desperately beneath him.

“Sometimes I might not even let you… _fuck, Grantaire_ … I wouldn’t even let you do that. If you were under the table I’d put your mouth to use where it belongs – cleaning my boots.”

Grantaire’s vision blacks out as he climaxes again, arching his back and biting down hard on the scarf to quiet his moan. When he comes to he finds that Enjolras has added to the mess of his clothes by painting his t-shirt with a second load of come. Grantaire smiles, a little delirious.

Enjolras releases Grantaire’s trapped hands, and pulls himself off the man with a wince. As Enjolras lies beside him and massages feeling back into Grantaire’s sore hands, Grantaire pulls the cloth out of his mouth.

“I always hated that scarf,” Enjolras comments, and Grantaire snaps his head towards him.

“You did that on purpose!” he realises. “You told me to wear it just so you could ruin it!”

Enjolras starts laughing, and Grantaire can’t help but join him. After a few seconds of shared mirth, Enjolras leans over and kisses his boyfriend affectionately on the lips.

“Was that okay?” he asks, nervous, and Grantaire almost starts laughing again.

“It was everything I ever fantasised about and more. I don’t know how to begin to thank you for that, mon ange. Was it okay for you?”

Enjolras bites his lip. “I think I enjoyed it more than I should have.”

“Nonsense!” Grantaire admonishes. “Everything we did was consensual, and I loved absolutely all of it. If you’re feeling at all guilty, stop it right now.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he concedes. “I guess I just wasn’t ready for how much I would enjoy… _dominating_ you. I’ve always liked it when you’re a bit rough with me, but what I did was… _more_. Are you sure it was alright?”

“It was absolutely more than alright, I promise you that. In fact, I’m hoping that you’ll be willing to do this again in the future.”

Enjolras grins wickedly. “Maybe if you’re good…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent three weeks unable to write this, and then this afternoon at work inspiration struck. Perhaps it was more procrastination, but who cares?
> 
> I already have a few ideas, but comment if you have any suggestions for porny situations you would like in this series, and I'll see if I can make them fit in. No promises, though.


End file.
